


Daddy Issues are So Last Season

by nerdylittledude



Series: Ugly Sweater !Verse [14]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-29
Updated: 2012-08-29
Packaged: 2017-11-13 03:51:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/499153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdylittledude/pseuds/nerdylittledude
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Father's Day, and Cas hasn't really come to terms with the whole "absent Father" thing. He's perfectly content to mope the whole holiday, but Dean - master of all father related issues - has other plans. The resulting holiday experience involves a lot of alcohol... but not in the way that you'd think.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Daddy Issues are So Last Season

**Author's Note:**

> So, I'm pretty sure this fic will live in infamy as "The Fic Rae Wrote Entirely Out of Her Ass". I was given a wonderful idea by a reader, but the extent of my knowledge was literally limited to whatever Google could tell me. I have a feeling I got some major details wrong - so if you're familiar with the subject, please be easy on me! See end of the fic for more notes.

It’s 85 degrees Fahrenheit out, and Dean’s shivering. He’s wearing the thickest pair of sweats he owns and is sitting on the couch, swaddled in a blanket. His nose feels cold, and he wrinkles it several times before pulling the blanket over his face. Through the fabric, he glares in Cas’ general direction.

“Cold enough for you, Cas?” he asks sarcastically, irritated.

Cas, on the contrary, looks practically gleeful. He’s wearing a giant, oversized ugly sweater that is hideous, even for his standards. It’s striped with weird, clashing colors and Dean doesn’t understand how anyone in any universe could ever think they went together. Worse than the colors, though, is the fact that there’s a pile of kittens along the side of the sweater, each with button eyes. The look in Cas’ eyes when he discovered it at their local thrift store had been, in Dean’s opinion, borderline manic. Currently, Cas is sitting beside Dean on the couch, surrounded by a pile – a literal _pile_ – of sweaters they picked up earlier today. ‘Content’ doesn’t begin to describe it. He’s humming some indecipherable tune under his breath and Dean only sees Cas this blissed out after sex.

… He’s slightly jealous that a pile of sweaters could put that same look on Cas’ face, but whatever.

“Yes, Dean,” Cas says, oblivious to Dean’s sarcasm, “I can now comfortably wear my sweaters.”

“Cas. It’s June. You’re not _supposed_ to be able to wear your sweaters.”

“I see no reason why not if we have such a powerful air conditioning unit.”

“Because I’m friggin freezing, Cas, that’s why.” Dean’s pretty sure the temperature in the house is well below 65.

“You’re welcome to one of my sweaters, Dean.”

Dean groans.

“I’m taking you to Sweaters Anonymous or something.”

“To… what?”

“It’s like – nevermind. Get under the blanket with me and make it warmer.”

“Yes, Dean,” Cas says, and Dean can hear in the angel’s voice how pleased he is.

Dean lifts up the edge of the covers and Cas cuddles in close, wrapping an arm around Dean’s waist as Dean covers them up again. Cas resumes his quiet humming, and Dean smiles.

“Y’know, Cas. There’s another holiday coming up. Got any big plans for Father’s Day? And – I’m saying this right now, man, no more graveyard holidays. Sam and I came to terms with Dad’s death, okay? We saw him like, climb out of hell. I think we’re good.”

Cas goes taut and tense and Dean raises an eyebrow, confused. Holiday talk usually makes Cas light up even more than sweaters. Dean’s confusion intensifies when Cas remains silent, unmoving, for several moments more.

“Cas?”

“I’m sure you and Sam will find a suitable way to spend this holiday, Dean,” Cas says at last, in a quiet, even tone that is carefully stoic. “I have no desire to participate.”

“What the hell, Cas?” Dean asks, irritated, because holidays are _Cas’ thing_ , not Dean’s, and the only reason he even mentions them is because of Cas. He’s not sure why it stings that Cas is casually dismissing such a big holiday, but it does. The only reasoning Dean can think of that Cas might be having is a general dislike for John… which is seriously fucked up, and Dean won’t have it. “Do you have a problem with my dad? Because Dad might have been a lot of things, but he sure as –“

“Dean. John Winchester raised the two most important men in my life. I bear him no ill will. He deserves for you and Sam to celebrate him.”

Dean narrows his eyes. “But not you?”

Cas is silent again, which is beyond irritating.  
  
“Cas,” Dean barks. When he meets Cas’ eyes, he finds the former-angel glaring.

“Not everyone has a father worth celebrating, Dean. I _apologize_ if I lack the conviction for celebrating a holiday manifest to remind me of my own father’s shortcomings.” His tone is scathing and sharp, and Dean is taken aback.

Sometimes Dean forgets that Cas has daddy issues, too, and that he lost just as much as Dean – if not more – in the wake of the would-be apocalypse. He lost his faith in his father, for one, which was once his most defining characteristic. No wonder he’s not big on the whole Father’s Day idea. Dean kind of feels like a dick, now.

“Easy, buddy,” Dean says gently, completely off the offence now. He presses a kiss to Cas’ head, nose nuzzled in the other man’s soft, dark hair. “We don’t have to celebrate Father’s Day.”

“Yes you do, Dean,” Cas says, tone unchanging, “Your father was a good man.”

“Well,” Dean replies, “Yours wasn’t.

“This is not up for discussion,” Cas says tersely, shifting to find the edge of the covers so he can get out of their blanket cocoon. “I will not be responsible for Sam losing this time with you. I will be content at home on that day. I’m done talking about this now.”

“Yeah, well I’m not,” Dean retorts, but Cas is already leaving the couch. A couple minutes later, Dean hears the shower running. He leans back against the couch and sighs. As his anger inevitably wanes, he spares a moment of vague amusement over the fact that their flat is so tiny that taking a shower is pretty much one of the only places they can get away from each other. He muses briefly over the idea of a bigger flat – or a house, even. He shakes the thought immediately. Houses require mortgages, mortgages require jobs, and jobs are for civilians. Dean is no civilian. This flat is just a nicer version of a motel and Dean and Cas are just playing normal. There are no mortgages in their future.

Dean takes the opportunity to dart out of his blanket fortress and shut off the A/C before Cas gets out of the shower. He grabs the covers and plops into bed, hiding under them and pretending to sleep in order to divert any possible repercussions from Cas. Dean hears the bathroom door open, followed by a short sharp bitchy noise that is clearly irritation on Cas’ part. He doesn’t turn on the A/C, though.

Dean waits, expecting Cas to come to bed eventually, but he doesn’t. The lights get turned off and eventually the TV, too, but Cas doesn’t join Dean. Finally, Dean sits up and looks around in the dark. Cas is on the couch, asleep, something he only does when he’s pissed. The son of a bitch is _pouting_.

“Real mature, Cas,” Dean mutters before laying back down and going to sleep.

*

Cas is gone when Dean wakes up, and Dean decides he’s had enough of his fallen angel being a brat. Dean hasn’t summoned an angel in a while – he hasn’t had to, there’s only one angel he cares about and he’s not an angel anymore – so Dean has nearly forgotten how to do it. He messes it up twice before he finally gets it right. The telltale sound of feathers swooshing announces Gabriel’s arrival.

“Dean-o! To what do I owe the pleasure?” Gabriel is shirtless, clad only in an American flag patterned boxers and a pair of Uggs. He’s holding a martini glass which seems to be full of Jell-O.

“Dude, what the hell?” Dean asks, gesturing to Gabriel’s outfit.

“You’re better off not knowing. What is it you want? I was in the middle of something.”

Dean decides to let it go. “Cas is pouting. I have no idea where he is right now.”

Gabriel groans and rolls his eyes. “You brought me here to play relationship counselor for you and your husband?” He snorts. “Somehow I think I’m the wrong person for the job.”

Dean shakes his head. “We’re not – whatever, it’s not a relationship thing. It’s Father’s Day.”

“Ohhh,” Gabriel says knowingly, nodding. “Cas is going all boohoo over his daddy issues, I’m guessing?”

“Pretty much. I figured since you guys have the same dad, you could talk him out of it.”

Gabe plops onto the couch, rummaging through the cushions for the remote.

“I don’t know, Dean-o. Dad really screwed him over. I’m not sure if talking about his feelings is going to solve anything. Got any candy?”

“No, we don’t,” Dean mutters, annoyed. “Listen, I’m not saying God’s not a dick – he is. I’ll be the first guy to tell you that. But we gotta help Cas get over this. I don’t do holidays without Cas, and Cas is making me do Father’s day – ”

“ _Making_ you?” Gabriel asks with a wicked grin, miming a whipping motion.

“– so we’re kind of at a road block here,” Dean grits out, scowling at Gabriel’s implication. “At least try to talk to him? Please?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Gabriel says with a wave of his hand, “just go buy me some chocolate.”

“Fine,” Dean says. “Don’t touch anything while I’m out.”

*

Dean comes back with a bag of mini Snickers and a tub of fudge ice cream. When he arrives, the house is at subarctic temperatures and Castiel is there sitting on the couch beside Gabriel, wearing another sweater. This one has cats, too, and Dean wonders vaguely whether or not their bunny is offended by this abundance of cat sweaters. Dean makes a mental note to buy Cas a new sweater with a rabbit on it… then bristles at how impossible, irrevocably gay he’s become. He’s seriously thinking about the _emotional wellbeing_ of their pet _bunny_.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean says uneasily, slipping in the front door. For once he’s grateful for the chill; it’s hot as hell outside. Dean’s pretty sure the candy’s already starting to melt. He tosses the bag to Gabriel, who catches it eagerly, and places the ice cream on the coffee table.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas says, averting his eyes.

“We were just talking,” Gabriel says as he rips apart a candy wrapper with excessive force due to his enthusiasm, “about Dad.”

“Yeah?” Dean says, feeling friggin awkward. He kind of wants to turn tail and walk out the way he came. He hadn’t expected Cas to beat him home.

“Yes. Gabriel was telling me what Father is like. He’s one of the few who have actually met him.” There’s a barely-there note of bitterness that Dean picks up on, but he notices that Cas is hiding it fairly well.

Dean walks across the room and takes a tentative seat on the bed, facing the two brothers. “So, uh, what’d he tell you?”

“That Father is childish and selfish,” Cas says, and Dean glares at Gabriel. Gabriel just smiles.

“What the hell, Gabe?”

“Wasn’t lying,” Gabriel says, shrugging.

“He also told me that Father loves us,” Cas goes on. “He pointed out that he’s brought me back… many times. Gabriel as well.”

Dean nods. He’s not entirely comfortable with the whole ‘forgiving God for fucking everything up’ thing, but he supposes that’s why he called Gabriel here. To say the things Dean couldn’t because of bias.

“Most importantly, though,” Cas says, “Father gave me you. And Sam, as well. I may not forgive him, but… I do respect that he tried. He allowed me to have my prize. I will try not to…” Cas’ voice trails off, but Dean figures the unspoken words are ‘hate him’.

Dean is turning red a little – in a very manly way, of course – because of what Cas just said, how Cas described him. As a prize, something desirable and worth having. Dean looks away, looks at his hands, because he’s not sure how to process those remarks. He can feel Gabriel smirking in his direction and he tries to focus on the fact that the dick just helped him out here.

“So you’ll do Father’s Day with me and Sam?” Dean asks hopefully, once he’s managed to recover from Cas’ offhand compliments.

Cas nods. “I will not be celebrating my Father, but I am willing to do participate.”

Gabriel abruptly stands and grabs the tub of ice cream from the table.

“My work here is done,” he announce, “You’re welcome, Dean.” And then he’s gone, invisible wings flapping audibly as he leaves.

“You called Gabriel,” Cas remarks.

“Uh. Yeah.”

“You must have been quite desperate.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t like it when you’re angry at me. Especially when I didn’t, y’know, _do_ anything.”

Cas is quiet a moment, looking at Dean. Dean looks back, like he always does. Like he always has, ever since their first few staring contests so long ago.

“I believe this means I owe you ‘make-up sex’,” Cas says finally, and Dean’s mouth flickers into a devious grin.

“You believe right, baby.”

Cas wrinkles his nose. “Not a baby, Dean.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “You make me say stupid shit when you turn me on. I’m not at all responsible for anything that comes out of my mouth from now until 20 minutes post-orgasm.” He wraps his arms around Cas and tugs him close, pressing their bodies together.

 

“Hmm. I would like to hear more of this ‘stupid shit’,” Cas says in a low voice, invading Dean’s personal space. “Tell me how you’d like me, Dean.”

Dean swallows hard.

“Let’s start with on your _knees,_ ” Dean supplies in a voice that is slightly more choked than he’d like. When Cas immediately complies, kneeling to the ground instantly, obediently, Dean can’t help but think that fights with Cas seriously are _not_ that bad.

*

 _“I was thinking we could go out to eat in his honor or something,”_ Sam says through the phone. Dean’s driving along a dark road miles and miles from home and Sam’s on speaker. Castiel is holding the phone and looking at it curiously with his brow wrinkled, as though he’s been thrown a curveball and he’s not sure how to react. Apparently he’s never seen the speakerphone feature before.

“Isn’t that kind of… lame?” Dean asks, raising his eyebrows at the phone. He hears Sam chuckle.

“Our parents are dead, Dean,” he says flatly. “Our options are kinda limited.”

Dean laughs. “Story of our lives, Sammy. Dinner it is. Do we have to get dressed up?”

“Yes, Dean,” Cas cuts in, “it should be formal.” Dean frowns.

“Why? I hate wearing monkey suits, I just end up feeling like I’m about to impersonate a fed.”

“Because I _like_ you in suits,” Cas replies, adding suggestive emphasis on the ‘like’. Dean swallows and Sam clears his throat.

“Little brother on the line, people. I seriously don’t want to hear where this conversation is going.”

Dean catches sight of a forlorn woman on the side of the road far ahead, wearing a white dress and looking up and down the road. He jerks his head in her direction, getting Cas’ attention.

“Well, you’re in luck, Sammy. We’ve just got sight of the Woman in White we’re after. I’ll have to call you back.”

“A Woman in White? Wow. We haven’t hunted one of those in… years.”

“Right? It’s actually kinda nostalgic.”

“How do you keep getting cases, anyway? How many hunts can one area have?”

“We’re actually in Maryland right now,” Dean replies, and he hears Sam snort.

“Maryland? Getting a little desperate, guys?”

“Yeah, shut up. Not everyone can just plop back into civilian life like you. If that means we have to drive a couple miles to gank a son of a bitch… well, so be it.”

The Woman in White is just ahead, and Dean slows down his car.

“Talk to you later, Sam,” Dean says.

“Goodbye, Sam,” Cas adds just as Sam says “Seeya, guys.” Cas ends the call without further ceremony.

Dean pulls to a stop in front of the Woman, who approaches the car.

“Need a lift?” Dean asks with an easy smile. He scans the area behind her, looking for something. The woman’s bones have been salted and burned; he and Cas figure she’s only around because she has some leftover possession from when she was alive left out here. He glances at Cas and sees his eyes light up – he’s seen something Dean hasn’t. Cas is out of the car in a second, wielding a lighter. The ghost pays him no mind, taking the opportunity to climb into Cas’ recently vacated seat.

“Hey, sugar,” Dean says to keep her busy. She looks at him with doleful eyes before she’s pressing close, trying to make a move on Dean. Dean isn’t exactly sure what he should do – he needs to keep her occupied while Cas is working on getting rid of her – but he sure as hell doesn’t want to kiss her. He squirms after a second of her trying to force him to reciprocate her eerily cold, ghostly kisses and shoves her off.

She looks nothing short of deranged at his aggressive rejection. Thankfully, she erupts into flames just as Dean’s starting to get a little concerned. Outside the car, Dean can see Cas silhouetted by another flame, where whatever they were searching for is burning. The ghost finally disappears and Cas climbs into the car.

“That was lame,” Dean remarks, “we never get anything like, challenging anymore.”

“We’re just very good at what we do,” Cas replies, giving Dean a small smile as Dean puts the car into drive.

“Whatever,” Dean grumbles. “Sometimes I think we should go back on the road again, man.”

Cas frowns.

“What about my candles?” he asks seriously, brow furrowed with concern. Dean can’t help but laugh at the absurdity. Dean’s suggesting uprooting their entire life, everything they’ve built here, and Cas’ first thought is his _candles_.

“Y’know, I think Sunshine would be appalled at your priorities, Cas,” Dean says, and Cas reddens, looking out the window.

“Naturally we’ll take her with us…” he mumbles, and Dean raises his eyebrows, surprised.

“Whoa, whoa, Cas. You know I’m not serious, don’t you? We’re not moving just ‘cause I’m bored. I wouldn’t do that to you.”

Now Cas looks surprised.

“Oh,” is all he says, and Dean’s stomach feels a little weird at the thought that Cas could believe so easily that Dean would be capable of being so selfish. He’s bored out his mind, yeah, but that’s nowhere near enough cause to undo everything they have.

“Maybe I just need a job or something,” Dean says offhand, just thinking out loud. Cas tilts his head and looks at him curiously.

“Like a civilian?”

“No!” Dean says indignantly, immediately. “Well. I don’t know,” he concedes after a moment, “Maybe. As a side thing. Just to keep busy or whatever.” Dean is gripping the steering wheel much more tightly than is strictly necessary and his knuckles are subsequently going pale.

“I see,” is all Cas says, and it’s incredibly unnerving. As well as he can read Cas, he still often has no idea what the hell the angel is thinking.

*

When Dean wakes up the following day, Cas isn’t there. He treks sleepily into the kitchen to find a note on the fridge that says “ _Gone food shopping – will make brunch upon return”_ and he scowls. He’s hungry as hell and there’s no Cas to make him breakfast. Upon further inspection, Dean finds the cupboards bare of cereal and the fridge devoid of any other substantial breakfast items. He figures Cas probably set out to make breakfast and wasn’t able to, so he decided to dart off to the store while Dean was asleep. While Dean appreciates the effort, he’s still hungry and sort of wishes they could of just gone to a diner or something instead.

He settles for a cup of coffee and waits, cradling the mug in his hands as he leans over the table tiredly. They don’t have a clock in the kitchen, so Dean has no idea how much time passes. He is aware that it’s much too long, though, and he gets more and more irritated as time goes on.

Finally, _finally_ Cas returns with an array of bags on his arms, at least five bags to each arm. Dean’s out of his chair and across the room to help Cas in a second – damn angel always insists on trying to carry the whole damn load of shopping bags in on his own. Cas smiles gratefully, but Dean doesn’t return it.

“I’m hungry. Why’d it take you so long?”

“Good morning to you too, Dean,” Cas replies. Dean takes a moment to enjoy the fact that Cas is learning the joys of sarcasm.

“I was talking to a German man,” Cas goes on, and Dean’s instantly on red alert. Germans are (usually) hot, and he doesn’t like the idea of Cas talking to one when he’s not around. He swallows the surge of overprotectiveness that has just rushed to the surface, reminding himself that he usually ends up looking like a dick when he gets like that. Cas is usually oblivious to when he’s being hit on, anyway, and most people hitting on him take it as a rebuff. Dean doesn’t really have anything to worry about.

“Yeah? And what did the German dude say that was so important that it delayed my breakfast two hours?”

“You’re coming very close to treating me like a housewife again, Dean,” Cas says in a warning tone, and Dean shuts up. He distinctly remembers the last time Cas got this impression from him. The result had included two pairs of handcuffs, several very large bruises and a level of orgasm denial that was just shy of being unbearable. Cas is creative when he’s pissed.

“Sorry,” Dean mumbles, looking at the ground.

“The German man asked me directions, at first. He’s new to this country and could not find very many people in this area who speak German. Thankfully, I was there-“

“Whoa, you speak German?”

Cas looks at him funny.

“Of course, Dean. I speak every language.”

A very vivid mental image of Cas doing his awkward dirty talk thing in a variety of different languages comes to Dean’s mind, and he grins. He is so, _so_ trying that out. He makes a mental note to ask later.

“Good to know,” he says with a wink, and Cas looks even more confused. He doesn’t acknowledge the statement, though.

“We happened to be walking in the same direction. He told me about Father’s Day in Germany. Männertag. It is… different than ours. In fact, I can’t think of anything paternal about it. In fact, if I were a father I would never consider participating.”

Dean’s caught off guard by this statement – he’s suddenly picturing Cas with his own child. Cas as someone’s _dad_. He thinks back to Lyric, the little girl they met in the park that one day several weeks ago. Cas had been so cautious and protective, telling Dean to slow down when he was pushing her on the swing. Dean also remembers the distinctly disappointed look on Cas’ face when the girl’s mother called and told them she found a new daycare, but thanks anyway.

He doesn’t know what to do with the fact that the idea makes him feel warm all over. Naturally, because he’s Dean, he shoves the feeling deep down and plows onward.

“Why? What’s wrong with it?” he asks, painfully aware that the lapse between the statement and his reply was too long. Cas doesn’t make any indication that he noticed, though.

“It involves hiking, a wheelbarrow, and copious amounts of alcohol.”

Dean raises an eyebrow.

“Those don’t sound like a very good mix, man.”

Cas shrugs.

“Perhaps not. And I don’t see how it would be a celebration of John at all, but I am interested in experiencing it.” Of course he is. It’s a _holiday_. “Naturally, we would bring Sam.”

“And Sarah?”

Cas shakes his head.

“It is… not that kind of holiday.”

Dean’s curiosity is more than piqued. Germans are weird. He’s pretty sure this holiday will be nothing short of the same.

“Are you gonna, like, explain it to me?”

Cas opens their laptop, which is sitting on the table, and taps it awake.

“I need to research it more, and then I will explain.”

Dean shuts the laptop on him.

“After breakfast.”

“But Dean-“

“ _After_. I’m a dick when I’m hungry.”

“Aren’t you always?” Cas jokes. Again, Dean’s proud that Cas has a sense of humor now. Dean likes to take full credit for that.

“Yeah, shut up. I can help, if you want,” he adds, just to reinforce the whole you-are-not-my-housewife thing. Dean can pull his weight.

“I would appreciate that. Would you begin dicing tomatoes for me?” Cas reaches for an apron – the St. Patrick’s Day one, for whatever reason – and puts it on. Dean smiles. He knows for a fact that Cas doesn’t _need_ an apron to make breakfast.

“Should I get you a Father’s Day apron or something? Or like a sweater?”

Cas hesitates. “I am not a father, Dean.”

Dean snorts. “So what? You’re not Irish, either,” he says, gesturing to the _‘Kiss me, I’m Irish!’_ apron Cas is wearing. “Besides, who cares what you wear? If you want one, I’ll get you one.”

Cas’ eyes light up.

“I would like that, Dean.”

The genuine pleasure in his angel’s voice is enough to have Dean tug him close for a kiss.

*

“I can’t find a single Internet article that has anything positive to say about Männertag,” Cas remarks. He’s sitting on the couch with his legs tucked under him, where he’s been for the past hour. Dean’s beside him, flipping through TV channels and bored as hell.

“What are they saying, then?”

“That it sets a poor example and should be done away with,” Cas says with a frown. “Perhaps I should be looking at German articles…”

“Well, bad ideas are essentially the Winchester way. If the Internet doesn’t want us to, I think it’s a pretty good reason to go for it.”

“Regardless of the connotations behind the articles, I think I have a general understanding of the holiday. It has many names – _Vatertag_ and _Herrentag_ , for example. It’s more of a ‘men’s day out’ than a celebration of fathers, apparently. It involves heavy drinking, often bar tours – but, no, there’s also the traditional version with hiking, which I much prefer –“

Dean grins, big and wide.

“Testosterone and alcohol? It sounds perfect.”

“… Should I call Sam?”

“Yes. Like right now.”

*

Sarah agrees not to complain about not being invited as long as the boys promise to go out to dinner with her afterwards in John’s honor. The conditions are that she picks the venue and what they wear, and they must be entirely sober when they arrive. They’ll be going to Sam and Sarah’s neck of the woods – upstate New York – for the dinner, so they have to plan their time accordingly. They’ll probably end up eating quite late, so Cas and Dean will crash at Sam and Sarah’s place for the night and leave the following day. In the meantime, Sarah can spend time with her own father.

Sam arrives in Philadelphia via train Sunday afternoon. He says the trip costs less because of gas and saves time because of traffic, especially because of the holiday, and he likes the scenery. Cas and Dean are there to pick him up when the train pulls in. Cas is wearing an oversized t-shirt with an awful striped design that says “HUG A FATHER TODAY” in big black text, in lieu of a sweater given the hot, sticky weather.

“Sammy!” Dean says enthusiastically, hugging his moose of a brother in a (manly) one-armed hug.

“Hey, Dean!” Sam says, grinning. Dean returns the grin.

Dean always loves the sight of his brother. A part of him – a bigger part than he’d like to admit, really – is still the codependent mess he’s always been. It feels weird not living with Sam anymore after growing so accustomed to it. It’s weird knowing Sam’s living a normal life, has a fiancée and is going to law school again. Some days Dean feels almost panicky when he looks around and sees a flat devoid of his little brother. Seeing an empty passenger’s seat when he looks over in the Impala is sometimes overwhelming. He’s still adjusting to an existence where Sam is his own person.

Cas helps with that, though. He has an uncanny ability to tell when these sorts of thoughts are creeping into Dean’s head. He catches the blank stares Dean gets sometimes when he’s reliving something and can pick up on the subtle clench of Dean’s fists when he’s struggling with a feeling he can’t deal with. And most of all, Cas organizes stuff like this – holidays that bring him together with his brother again. Dean knows he’d see much less of Sammy if not for Cas. He’s grateful.

“Hello, Sam,” Cas says and shakes Sam’s hand. The sight is so awkward that Dean can’t help but laugh. Cas looks uncomfortable and Sam looks amused. He turns the handshake into a proper hug, which is equally awkward, and Dean’s tearing up from how hard he’s laughing by the time the whole ordeal is done with.

“So. Crazy German Testosterone Day, huh?” Sam asks.

“Männertag,” Cas says, like he’s correcting him.

“He’s very official about these things,” Dean says, chuckling. Sam nods.

“Right. Männertag. I take it you know where we’re going?”

Cas nods.

“Dean refuses to purchase a GPS-“

“We’re not douching up my baby!”

“-so I have printed it out via ‘MapQuest’. First, we need to pick up the wagon.”

“… Wagon?” Sam asks dubiously.

“The term is _Bollerwagon,_ actually.

“Don’t question it, man,” Dean says, “there is literally no reasoning with him.”

They all head to the car, with both Sam and Dean snickering at the air of determination with which Cas walks.

*

“That is a hell of a lot of alcohol, Cas,” Dean says as they load the last of their supplies into the back of the Impala. Sam’s eyeing the trunk skeptically as well. Cas tilts his head at both of them.

“It’s not all alcoholic,” Cas explains, “While the Germans’ intent is to get excessively, indecently intoxicated, I would like us to remember this experience. Our cargo is half-full of nonalcoholic spirits.”

Sam looks relieved.

“Good thinking, Cas. I’m sure Sarah will appreciate it, too.”

“What’s with the wagon?” Dean inquires.

“ _Bollerwagon_ ,” Sam corrects, and Dean scowls.

“Not you, too,” he groans.

“When in Rome, Dean.”

“We’re not _in_ Rome – or Germany, or wherever. We’re in friggin Pennsylvania.”

“The _bollerwagon_ is to carry the alcohol,” Cas cuts in, look at Dean like he’s stupid. Which, yeah – stupid question.

“Wait a minute. Where are we going with all this shit again?”

Cas heaves a longsuffering sigh. Dean thinks he might vaguely remember having this conversation with Cas before. “Hiking,” he says simply, and both Dean and Sam look scandalized.

“… You want us to go hiking half-drunk carrying a heavy-as-hell wagon and be back in time to catch a train from Philadelphia to New York and get there sober?”

Cas nods. “Yes, Dean.”

Sam and Dean exchange looks.

“Well,” Sam says unsurely, “I guess we should get on our way, then.”

Cas looks pleased with a small, self-satisfied smile on his face. It makes Dean smile, too; Cas catches Dean’s expression and their eyes lock in that way they always do, unwavering and intense. It is, in many ways, the same look they shared when they first met and Cas boldly declared, _“I am the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition.”_ It _is_ different in some ways, though – it’s still every bit as intense, but with a different type of intensity. Sam notices it and studiously looks away, busying himself with closing the trunk and letting himself into the car.

“Cas – I, uh –“

“Me too, Dean,” Cas replies, anticipating Dean’s words.

Sam abruptly beeps the horn and both men jump. They turn and find Sam laughing his ass off. Dean gives him the middle finger, but he’s laughing too – laughing because it’s friggin ridiculous and impossible and wonderful that he’s in love. Cas laughs a little too, in that awkward way of his. In this moment, Dean decides that there is no better feeling than laughing with the two most important people in his life.

*

They drop off the Impala at an overnight parking garage, much to Dean’s protests. They figure they’ll be unfit to drive by the time they’re done with their adventure, and they’ll have to rely on a cab to get them to the train station. They walk half a mile from the parking garage to their intended destination. About halfway through, Dean grabs Cas’ hand. No more than two minutes later, Sam catches sight, rolls his eyes and groans.

“Dean, come _on_. I refuse to be the third wheel here.”

“Perks of dating a dude,” Dean says with a smirk, “he comes along for Man Day or whatever it’s called.” To emphasize his point, he presses a sloppy kiss to Cas’ cheek, mouth pressing against Cas’ stubble.

“Dean!” Sam exclaims irritably at the same time Cas interjects, “ _Männertag_ , Dean!”

“Christ,” Dean mutters, raising both hands in a sign of surrender.

They arrive at the bottom of the upward trail they’ll be taking. It’s steeper than Dean anticipated, and much more packed with trees and other plant life, making it shady. The trail is just wide enough for the wagon to fit comfortably. Dean stares down the path ahead and grabs a beer, cracking it open and chugging it down. Sam stares at trail for a moment as well before following suit. With a certain amount of hesitancy, Cas also grabs a beer. Both brothers are done quickly, and only after the empty bottles are tossed back into wagon do they face down their trail again.

“Tell me again why this is a good idea?” Dean asks, raising an eyebrow at Cas.

“It’ll be more fun the drunker we are, Dean. And hiking is great even when you’re not drunk, though. Y’know, nature, exercise –“

“Not everyone is a granola-crunching hippie weirdo like you, Sam. That’s _not_ my definition of fun.”

“It will be fun, Dean. It is a German tradition,” he adds, like this is definitive proof that the holiday is best spent getting drunk marching upwards in a goddamn forest, or whatever this is.

“The wagon will take two people to pull,” Sam observes, “We can take shifts. I’ll take the first one.”

“I’ll help you,” Cas volunteers. Dean grabs another beer.

“And we’re off!” he says dramatically. He heads the group as they embark. To Dean’s surprise, he does start to enjoy himself right off the bat. There’s something about the sound of the wagon – _bollerwagon_ , whatever – that gives the hike the right sort of rhythm and puts Dean at ease. Only a few minutes in, he forgets his complaints.

They talk about Dad. It’s not as awkward as it might have been a long time ago. The conversation comes easy; fond anecdotes float to the surface and they laugh. Dean realizes that sometimes he forgets all the good things amidst the bad things, and it feels good to talk about the better parts of their dad with Sam. There was drunkenness… but there were also piggy back rides and blasting mullethead 70s rock and driving for miles and miles. There were holidays their dad completely forgot about, but there were also ones where John tried – Dean distinctly remembers a Christmas with a two foot tall Christmas tree and a cheeseburger in his stocking. A _cheeseburger_. Sam doesn’t remember because he was too young, but he laughs at Dean’s tale anyway.

They joke lightly about what an awful parent he was, too. Dean tells them that Dad let Sam fall asleep covered in cake on his third birthday.  Sam tries to remember their first fight – they had _so many_ – and he thinks it might have been over the length of his hair.

Cas, of course, can’t contribute to the conversation, but he is a quiet force beside the two brothers and does not seem unhappy. Dean looks at him often, makes sure to meet his eyes and scan them, searching for any underlying sadness. After all, Cas barely wanted to celebrate the holiday; it’s not like he knows enough of his father to tell them. Cas seems content, though, and returns all of Dean’s smiles.

They pause every now and then for more drinks, putting rocks behind the wagon’s wheels to keep it from sliding backward. With every drink the whole idea of this Männertag business sounds even more absurd and equally endearing. Cas’ good intentions with the nonalcoholic spirits would have worked better had the boys actually interspersed their alcoholic drinking and nonalcoholic, instead of digging through the wagon to find all the proper beers. The wagon is now full of empty bottles and virgin wine and beer.

During one of their breaks, while all three of them are sitting on the ground leaning against the wagon, Dean slings an arm lazily over Cas’ shoulders and kisses him.

“Yer my anjull,” he slurs, “and you make GOOD holldays ideas.” He mouths at Cas’ neck and Cas pushes him away gently.

“We have company, Dean. And thank you. No more alcohol from here on, though.” Cas has been drinking most of their nonalcoholic wine, and he is decidedly _not_ drunk.

“Cas, you’re the best brother-in-law,” Sam says. He’s just as drunk as Dean but slightly more in charge of himself verbally. “Our dad is practically – practically, like, y’know –“

“Like your dad, too!” Dean cuts in.

Sam bursts into laughter.

“Man, we’re all so fucked.”

“John Winchesters’ kids,” Dean says, echoing Sam’s laughter, “’course werr fucked. Fucks’re middle name.”

“How are we even like – like, _alive_ right now? I was – I was, _was_ , what, 8 months when Mom died?”

“Six!” Dean says, and starts giggling. Cas looks from one brother to the other like a ping pong match as each one speaks.

“So like… six months. Didn’t I – I, need like bottles ‘n shit? Diapers. Diapers, too. Can dad change one o’ those? How am I not dead?”

“Bobby!” Dean says enthusiastically, gesturing dramatically to nothing with his hand. Sam immediately nods. They’re both quiet a moment before Dean nods again, suddenly.

“Yup. Bobby. We gotta call him. Is there connect- con… phone stuff out here? Connect… service, phone service. ‘s there phone service? We gotta call him, ‘s Father’s Day ‘n he taught us baseball.”

Sam turns and looks at Cas seriously. “Bobby is our other dad. I mean not like _gay_ with our dad but he raised us basically-“

“Yes, I know. He is a good man,” Cas replies with an honest, fond smile. Dean likes that smile. It shows that Cas values Bobby as much as he and Sam do. “I am grateful you both had him.”

“Need a phone!” Dean says loudly. Cas rolls his eyes and plucks his phone from his pocket. All three lean close and Dean dials the number – which is thankfully on speed dial, so Dean can’t botch it.

_“This is Bobby Singer’s phone – I ain’t home, idjits, and if you’re gonna leave a message it better be good. I hate checking this damn thing.”_

“HAPPY FATHER’S DAY!” Dean shouts and Sam chimes it, equally loud. Cas clears his throat and adds, “Happy Father’s Day, Bobby,” once they’re done, and Dean laughs.

“Bobby, man, you shoulda been here. We have a _wagon –a fuckin wagon –_ and fake wine and real wine and fuckin _nature_ too… why do you live so _far?_ ” Dean’s practically whining by the end of it.

“South Dakota is far,” Sam adds, in case Dean wasn’t clear enough.

“We think y’should MOVE,” Dean says emphatically, gesturing wildly.

“Move here, we have beaches,” Sam adds earnestly.

“I’d bake for you,” Cas adds feebly, quietly, and Dean almost kisses him again.

“Thanks for baseball, Bobby,” Dean says, and his voice is suddenly as firm as it can be considering the amount of alcohol in his system.

“Thanks for everything,” Sam says, and his voice is quiet.

“More of a father than Dad ever was,” Dean says after a moment. “So yeah.”

“Yeah,” Sam echoes.

“Bobby,” Cas says suddenly, “Thank you, as well. My father… well, you have shown me more care in the past two years than my father ever has.”

“That was deep, Cas-“ Dean starts.

 _“Your message has reached its limit,”_ an automated voice says from the phone, followed by a loud and somewhat obnoxious beep.

“Sonofabitch,” Dean mutters, and Sam laughs.

“Bobby hates long messages.”

“I bet he’ll cry man-tears,” Dean says and this sets all three of them laughing, leaning back against the wagon until they feel it slip forward slightly, straining against the rocks holding it in place.

“We’re almost to the top,” Cas says, “let’s keep going.”

*

There’s a clearing at the top of the hill and they lay down in the grass, laying on their backs and watching the clouds roll by. Cas passes out water bottles before he lays down and instructs everyone to drink and aim for sobriety. They lie there for a while, staring at the sky and occasionally pointing out shapes. Dean’s holding Cas’ hand again, squeezing it tightly every now and then. A bit of Dean’s skin is exposed where his shirt rises up slightly, and Cas traces absent circles there. Sam doesn’t notice; his eyes have slipped shut and he looks close to sleep.

“This was cool, Cas,” Dean says after a long while, turning to look at his angel. “Thanks, man.”

“Thank you for humoring my whims,” Cas says, smiling contentedly, “I know they do sound strange sometimes.”

“Nah, I always know they’ll turn out awesome. You’re good at that.”

Cas looks very happy. His smile doesn’t widen or anything – because, in all fairness, it’s _Cas_ and the guy doesn’t grin very often – but there’s something about his countenance that seems to glow or something. Dean likes it.

A telltale loud growling sound comes from Dean’s stomach and he smiles sheepishly.

“We should probably get going. Apparently, I’m hungry.”

Cas sits up abruptly, and Dean thinks briefly of a husky or something, jumping up at his owner’s command. Dean shakes the thought, though – he knows Cas would hate the comparison. It’s probably filed under the whole “housewife” thing. Instead of waking Sam or something, Cas walks over to the wagon and starts rummaging through it. He takes a large lunch bag – the kind used for picnics to keep food cool – out of the wagon. Dean hadn’t noticed it before.

“I brought food,” Cas explains, “traditional German sandwiches, _Das Butterbrot_.”

Dean looks at Cas skeptically, because that doesn’t exactly sound appealing. Still, Cas is rarely wrong when it comes to food, so he tries to muster up some enthusiasm for it.

“ _Butterbrot_. Right. So what’s in it?”

“ _Aufschnitt,”_ Cas replies simply, like this explains it. Dean looks at him blankly. Cas sighs.

“That means ‘cold cuts.’ _Butterbrot_ is a type of sandwich that uses sourdough bread, made with rye.”

“… You’re lucky I trust you,” Dean says, eyeing the bag warily.

“It’s more than luck,” Cas says, sitting down as Dean sits up and gently shakes his brother.

“Wake up, Sam. There’s food. I mean, weird German food, yeah, but… food.”

Sam yawns and stretches. “Food sounds good right now. Even weird German food.”

“ _Butterbrot_ ,” Cas corrects.

“Gesundheit,” Sam responds, and Dean laughs.

“At least you got the right language.”

They all sit in a circle (more of a triangle, really), on a picnic blanket Cas has provided. Dean notes that it’s different than the one at the cemetery; this one has a plaid pattern of blue and green. Dean appreciates it. It’d good to separate this memory from that one, even in small ways. Dean’s not entirely sure why he feels like that, but he’s glad Cas shares the feeling.

As always, the food is awesome. It’s really different, but not so far out there that it doesn’t suit his palate. He’s pleasantly surprised that the opposite is true. Sam makes blissful noises and compliments Cas’ talent with food every other bite, and Cas looks like a little ball of positive energy. Dean leans over and presses a kiss to Cas’ hair, and Sam laughs.

“What?” Dean asks, inexplicably self-conscious.

“Nothing, Dean. It’s just… happiness looks good on you, man. Really good. All I’ve ever –“

“Dude. Could you be more gay?”

Sam gives him a look that is both incredulous and borderline bitchface.

“I don’t know, Dean, I could be dating a man and living with him and having – augh – gay sex all the time.”

Dean snickers.

“Still not as gay as you, man.”

Cas looks completely and utterly confused, and when both brothers realize this, they laugh some more (at Cas’ expense). Cas furrows his brow and tilts his head, which is damn adorable. Dean tugs him into a quick, awkward hug, and Cas looks at him with uncertainty. Dean doesn’t bother explaining his banter to Cas; he’s pretty sure it’s too far over the new-to-humanity angel’s head.

The laughter eventually dies down, with all three quietly enjoying their meal. Dean eats three and thankfully, Cas packed accordingly. He finishes eating after everyone else. Sam has been watching him since he finished his own food, his expression unreadable. Several times, he opens his mouth to speak, but closes it again. Dean notices it and raises an eyebrow at his little brother. Cas must notice it, too, because he stands up.

“I am going to – uh – take a walk,” he says stiffly, and walks off before Dean can question it. Sam watches him go, biting the inside of his cheek. Finally, he speaks.

“Dean, I want you to know that this day isn’t just for you and Bobby.”

Dean is silent. He picks at the grass, studiously looking anywhere and everywhere but at Sam.

“I had one more father figure in my life, Dean.”

“Oh, c’mon, Sammy, I didn’t –“

“But you did, Dean. _You_ made my dinner every night. You made sure I made it to school. You came to the spelling bees and the award nights – hell, I think you even came to a parent-teacher conference once. You kept me safe.” Sam’s voice cracks a little at the end, but he’s still looking at Dean earnestly.

“I was just doing my job,” Dean says, still staring at the ground.

“Exactly. Your job was to be my father when Dad wasn’t able to – which was _all the time_. It was our whole life, Dean. You had to be both my dad and my brother.”

Sam reaches into one of his enormous pockets and Dean finally looks up.

“Sam, no –“

“Dean, yes. I got this for you. It’s nothing big or expensive, so don’t let your macho pride get bruised.” He hands Dean a little box from his pocket, wrapped in the Sunday newspaper comics. Dean knows it’s just because of tradition, now, and no longer out of necessity. He smiles despite himself.

“Bitch,” he mutters as he takes the gift.

“Jerk,” Sam replies brightly with a grin.

The present within the little box is simple, but Dean loves it immediately. It’s a leather bracelet, almost wide enough to be called thick, but not quite. A silver pentagram is embedded in the band. Dean loves it because he can always wear it, just like his amulet. He’ll never throw it out, either. He won’t make the same mistake twice.

“Thanks, Sam,” Dean says quietly, putting the bracelet on his left hand.

“Happy Father’s Day, Dean.”

*

Needless to say, the downward journey is much easier than the upward one was. The only constant annoyance is the wagon, which keeps trying to scoot downward faster than they can walk. After the third time the wagon hits the back of his heel, Dean suggests they hop in and ride it down rollercoaster style. Sam and Cas stare at Dean with matching expressions of disbelief.

“I value my life, thanks,” Sam says, taking the wagon from Dean to relieve him of his shift.

They drink water and ‘fake’ beer the whole way down, and by the time they reach the end, they’re essentially sober. They’re also tired as hell. Dean aches in places he didn’t even know he _had_ and seriously needs to piss. He spies a bench at the edge of the path and sinks into it, leaning back and squeezing his temples. Sam and Cas  join him, both leaning back tiredly. Cas takes out his phone a calls a cab before the three of them fall into a tired, affable silence waiting for it to arrive.

“This was fun,” Sam says after a while, smiling at Cas fondly.

“I’m glad you enjoyed yourself.”

The cab arrives soon enough and they all pile in. They head for the station, with only a small detour for Dean and Cas to grab their things from the Impala. They have appropriately fancy outfits, approved by Sarah over Skype.

They tip the cabbie when he drops them off and head for the train. It’s a close call; they barely make it to the station in time and have to run to make it, much to the protest of their ailing muscles. They collapse into their seats, with Dean and Cas on one side and Sam sitting opposite them.

They all sleep the majority of the trip. Sam stretches out across his chair and the vacant one beside him, fitting as best he can, given his large frame. Dean falls asleep against the window, with Cas’ head resting on his shoulder. It’s a quiet little moment in the long, hectic timeline of Dean’s life, and the last thing he thinks before he surrenders to his sleepy eyelids is, yet again, that he’s goddamn _happy_. He is reveling in the depth of that truth when sleep finally pulls him under.

*

It’s dark when Dean awakes. A quick glance at his phone says he’s been out for hours. Sam is still asleep, but Cas is already awake beside him. Figures. Cas always wakes up first. His hands are in Dean’s hair and it’s obvious he’s been running his hands through it. He freezes when he sees that Dean is awake.

“Did I wake you?” he asks, pulling his hand away.

“Mhh, no. That felt nice, you can keep doing it,” Dean says sleepily. Cas hesitates, but then resumes what he was doing, carding his fingers through Dean’s short, soft hair.

“We’re nearly there. Next stop, actually,” Cas informs him. He presses a kiss to Dean’s neck and Dean shifts so he can kiss his mouth. Dean darts his tongue slides easily into Cas’ mouth and his bites gently at Cas’ lip. Cas takes a sharp intake of air and then shakes his head.

“Your brother is asleep across from us and we are in a crowded train.”

Dean ignores him in favor of sliding a hand to the back of his boyfriend’s neck and pulling him in for another kiss. Cas goes with it without protest, sighing quietly against Dean’s lips when their mouths break apart.

“Public area,” Cas reminds him.

“That didn’t stop you on Memorial Day in that park.”

Cas flushes red and looks away.

“That was very inappropriate,” Cas mumbles. Dean leans forward, bringing his lips close to Cas’ ear.

“I _liked_ it,” he whispers, and Cas shudders. They are abruptly interrupted by Sam loudly clearly his throat. Dean groans and sits back in his seat.

“Cockblock,” Dean says, and Sam gives him his classic bitchface.

“We’re on a _train_ , Dean,” he says exasperatedly.

Before their bickering can escalate any further, the train intercom announces that they’ve arrived at the next stop. The subject of inappropriate kissing is lost in favor of gathering their bags and heading for the exit.

Sarah is waiting for them on the platform when they arrive, and Sam’s smile is almost embarrassingly dopey. He runs to her like he’s been gone for weeks and not just a day, both literally and figuratively sweeping her off her feet when he hugs her. He spins her around a bit and it’s horrifically cheesy – though Dean can’t help but think that happiness looks good on _Sam_ , too. He gets what his little brother meant, earlier. Sam’s features are light and his eyes have something decidedly bright in them when he looks at Sarah. Dean hasn’t seen Sam look like that since Jessica, so many years ago.

“Hey, Sarah! Good to see you,” Dean says with a grin, once the dramatic hug has ended. He gives Sarah his own hug – much less dramatic, obviously – and Cas shakes her hand in that awkward, formal way of his.

“You too! I missed you both,” she says with a warm smile that shows how much she means it. “Okay - our reservation is in an hour. I’m taking you home and everyone’s getting quick showers – and I mean _quick_ , boys – and then we head off. Got it?”

Dean salutes her like she’s an army general. “Got it.”

The other two mimic him and Sarah leads the way to the car waiting outside.

*

Cas and Dean barely get to see the house, because Sarah rushes them through it. Dean notes that it’s very beautiful, filled with paintings that her father probably came across in his years of auctioning that were too beautiful to part with. It’s well furnished, too. Sarah owned the house before she met Sam; it was a gift left to her in a will from a grandmother and is already paid off. Sam works as an intern for Sarah’s dad, now, and he and Sarah live well. Certainly better than Dean and Cas are in their studio flat, living off pool hustling and credit card fraud that is getting increasingly difficult to pull off and equally difficult on Dean’s conscience. Looking at Sam and Sarah’s house, however brief the glimpse, makes Dean wonder again if he should get a job or something.

They’re sent to a guest bedroom equipped with its own bathroom and are told to be out in fifteen minutes, “or else”. Dean appreciates that she assumed he and Cas would be showering together, because now he doesn’t have to ask Cas himself. They both climb into the shower together and Dean turns on the water, hot and steaming. He’d intended to make _some_ sort of move, but the water feels nice and he realizes yet again how exhausted his body is. Sarah’s somewhat formidable threat of “or else” is also at the forefront of his mind, so in the end he just settles for washing Cas’ hair for him and otherwise showering innocently.

Sarah’s gone when they finally emerge from the guest room, fresh and clad in their fancy suits. Sam’s sitting in the living room looking just as dapper.

“Where’s Sarah?” Dean asks him, looking around the room.

“No idea. I got out of the shower and she wasn’t here.”

As if on cue, the front door opens and Sarah’s there, looking lovely in a black dress and pretty, dangling earrings, with her hair braided. She smiles and tilts her head toward the door.

“Come on, boys, our reservation’s in five.”

“Where’d you go?” Sam asks skeptically.

“Hmm? Oh – I ran to a friend’s house, had to borrow a pair of earrings,” she replies, gesturing to the earrings.

“… Sarah, I’ve seen those earrings before. Aren’t they yours?” Sam says, looking even more suspicious.

“Nope,” she says simply with an unreadable smile, and heads out the door, beckoning them after. Sam’s wary look doesn’t fade, but Dean brushes it off. Girls are weird.

*

The restaurant is ritzy and upscale, and Dean immediately feels out of place. He starts messing with the bottom of his tie, rolling the edges around his fingers. Cas notices and places a hand over Dean’s hand, squeezing it gently. The message is clear: _I’m here_. Dean drops his tie and squeezes back. No one notices this quiet moment in their world, and that makes it better. Dean likes these small moments that only he and Cas share.

The waitress leads them through the crowded restaurant, weaving through tables and people to a booth by the window. Dean and Sam stop short before they make it to the table, though.

“Bobby?” both boys ask at once – because Bobby’s already there, sitting at the table. He’s dressed up, too, though he’s still wearing his hat. He looks slightly uncomfortable in the place, sitting by himself. He smiles when he sees everyone coming.

“Yeah, ya idjits, it’s me,” he says gruffly, standing to hug them as they approach. Dean and Sam practically run to him.

“Happy Father’s Day!” they say, again at once. Bobby looks mildly overwhelmed.

“I’m not-“

“Nope, shut up. Yes you are,” Dean says, and that settles that. They all take their seats and the server comes with menus a minute later. Dean lets Cas order for him and Sam does the same with Sarah; neither of them know much about high-class food, but their respective partners are much more well versed. Sarah has learned from years of experience and Cas has learned from various cookbooks and… Google.

“Wait… how’d you get here, Bobby?” Sam asks after their meals have arrived.

“Don’t look at me,” Bobby says, jerking his thumb in Sarah’s direction, “this was all her.”

Sam looks at Sarah uneasily.

“Sarah… er, can we afford that?” He looks more than a little embarrassed, but Dean’s pretty sure he would be, too.

Sarah smiles and bites her lip.

“I’ve been telling my Dad about Bobby,” she says, sounding shy – which is a rare occurrence for her, “and how much he’s done for you and Sam. He thought it was a shame that Bobby couldn’t spend Father’s Day with us.”

“Bobby accepted a free ticket?” Dean asks, looking at Bobby, who is looking at his plate.

“I didn’t think he would,” Sarah says, smiling at him fondly, “so we bought him a nonrefundable ticket without his permission.” Her smile evolves into a mischievous grin, and Dean remembers why he told Sam to marry her so many years ago.

“Bastards,” Bobby grumbles, but his smile betrays him.

Dinner is great, but the company is even better. The conversation ranges from ‘how are you’s to life updates and anecdotes from the brothers’ childhood, where Bobby served as father to both boys growing up. They tease Bobby for going a bit red at all the praise and attention. It’s good feelings all around, and Bobby looks happy to be there. Again, it’s another instance of someone whose face is so unused to happiness that it catches Dean off guard. Happiness looks good on Bobby, too.

The meal is over what feels like far too soon, despite how long it’s been. They opt out of dessert because dinner was filling enough. Once the bill is paid and the waitress is tipped, they all pile into Sarah’s car and head back to Sam and Sarah’s place. On the way, she convinces Dean and Cas to stay another night more than intended because Bobby is staying longer, too. It didn’t take much coercing for them to say yes.

By the time they get home, everyone is exhausted. Between the hiking, drinking, the train ride and dinner, Sam, Dean and Cas can’t wait to hit the sack. Sarah directs Dean and Cas back to the same guest room as before and they all say their goodnights. Sam tries to bid Dean another ‘Happy Father’s Day’ before he heads upstairs, but Dean reacts in a _very mature_ manner by clamping his hands over his ears, and shouting nonsense as he ducks into his room. He hears Sam huff a sigh and can practically feel his bitchface through the door.

Dean turns around and Cas is there, inches from him. Dean jumps; he hadn’t heard Cas and wasn’t expecting him to be in such close proximity. Cas wraps an arms around Dean and kisses him. Dean smiles into the kiss and pulls Cas toward the bed, and after an awkward moment of shucking most of their clothing, they curl up together. They’re both too tired to do anything more than lay together.

“Thank you, Dean,” Cas says.

“Thank me? You’re the one who planned all this.”

“You called Gabriel.”

“Yeah, well…”

“I love you,” Cas says, and kisses Dean again.

“I love you, too. And – thank _you_ , man. Another kickass holiday because you’re so…”

“So?”

“So _you_ ,” Dean says, gesturing up and down Cas.

“I’ll take that as a compliment, I think.”

“Good, ‘cause it is one.”

Cas looks pleased. “Happy Father’s Day, Dean.”

“Happy Father’s Day, Cas.”

They climb under the covers and lay chest-to-chest with their feet entangled. They’re both nearly asleep by the time Dean speaks again. His speech is garbled by how sleepiness.

“One day,” he whispers, nearly inaudible into Cas’ hair, “we might be dads, too.”

Cas responds with an indistinct mumble that sounds something like _Go to sleep, Dean._ Dean’s almost instantly grateful that Cas didn’t hear him. He’s not sure where the sentiment came from, but he’s pretty sure it’s better left where it came from, deep in the recesses of his mind. He presses a kiss to Cas’ head and very soon after falls asleep. 

**Author's Note:**

> A bit of minutiae for you - Dean wears the bracelet on his left hand for the same reason people wear wedding rings on their left ring finger (sans romantic implications). Also - I wanted to thank my tumblr followers who gave me all the ideas for a sweater in summer!
> 
> Last thing: I want to apologize to anyone who's German, whose holiday I may have written horribly, horribly wrong. I meant no disrespect.


End file.
